Small todays, your tomorrows
by MrsCuddles
Summary: We meet and lose people all the time, but only a few leave their marks. The aftermath of losing a piece of what feels your own flesh in the eyes of the 4 left behind "I'm hurling little joys against the greater sadness. The sadness is a giant weight. It presses down, it means:"What's the point?" "Drought brings out the worst in us and it's easy to hate your fellow human beings."
1. The boxer & the fighter

_**Hello! I'm pretty late with it, but University's taking me so much tiiiiiiime, and... I've only JUST finished watching season 2. **_

_**I don't even know where to start: it was insane! I have so many feelings and thoughts that I have a desperate need for the writers to hurry up: I NEED SEASON 3 SO BADLY! Lol**_

_**I've come up with a few ideas while I waited for the train and wrote them down during the ride. They're all taken from bits of Mumford sons's songs (whom I LOVE, btw). **_

_**This is the first one (they all revolve around the aftermath of Mike's passing -supposed passing, hopefully-) and it's from Briggs POV. I also have some drafts of those in Briggs/Charlie's POV, DJ's POV and Johnny's POV. They're just drafts, but I'll write them down as soon as I'm done with my exams. But most importantly, I have Paige's POV all written down and I'm really excited to publish that specific one! I haven't decided yet whether to publish it as last or I don't know. **_

_**Well, I hope you like this one and let me know what you think! Feel free to DM/Review your questions if you have any. (I apologize for any bad mistake, I'm Italian, so please, don't be too harsh!)**_

_**#SAVEMIKEWARREN**_

_**- xoxo Mel**_

**The boxer & the fighter**

The vase was simple, smooth. Sharp at the top, but rounded at the edges: just like he had become.

To Briggs, that had been the easiest choice to make out of all the ones he had had to face in just one week. Sometimes, it just bothered him to be in charge at Graceland, but right now, he _hated_ it. If it weren't for Charlie (who had wisely told him not to choose black, but a greying deep blue colour: "sophisticated just like him", she had said), he would have retrieved to his secret apartment and spent the whole week there. Alone.

But he couldn't. He had to take his responsibilities, the ones that came with the job. And the house. And the _family_.

He breathed deeply, fidgeting with his eyeglasses before taking them off and stepping up on the rock.

Charlie looked up at him, her eyes all puffy and red despite her great make up skills; Johnny took his hands out of his pockets and mimicked her, staring into Paul's stone cold eyes. It was hard to believe that he, dressed all black and neat, was the same funny, inappropriately ironic, Peter-Pan-syndrome suffering dude that he had always been.

Jakes stood a few feet back, looking the same as always: his dreads messily pulled back, hands in pockets, his t-shirt and jeans thrown on as if he had been sleeping under a bridge for a week. He had always been the man who spoke his mind whenever and however he wanted, but Briggs knew deep down that even if he would never admit it, even if he had always shown an inherent dislike for the kid, Briggs knew that beyond those sunglasses he would have seen sad eyes. The ones he had only ever seen on DJ's face when his kid was taken away from him.

The truth that lay beyond his last thought shadowed his features: DJ was going to go through that shitty phase where the absence of a lost child was unbearable all over again. But this time he was not alone. He would share it with his roommates.

They had all lost _their_ kid. They had lost _Mike_.

With one last glance at the people in front of him, Briggs reached into his pocket and took a piece of paper out. He cleared his throat and straightened his back, ready to make the hardest speech he had ever had to make. He _hated _speeches: he'd much rather have everything done and over with instead of losing himself in a bunch of words, most likely looked up on google. But no.

"_Mike deserves better: I have to do this for Mikey_", he had told Charlie the night before when she had come down to check on him at 4AM. And he had meant it.

"So..." Silence.

He mentally damned himself, '_A perfect start indeed_'.

"I... I'm not used to this and I'm sure nobody is, so bear with my incompetence." He didn't dare to look up at the others and rushed to open the crumpled paper in his hand. Scanning the inked words, he wetted his tongue and read out.

"Mike was a really good guy. He was a tireless, unceasing, overachieving, far-reaching, strong young man. His praiseworthy intelligence and shocking integrity and entirety made him one of the best and most hard working men I've ever had the pleasure to work with."

He stopped to take a moment and let all those words sink in, just like he had seen it done in the movies. For the sake of dramatic situations, he had figured.

Although, he bit the side of his cheek.

'_Mikey deserves this, Briggs. C'mon'_, he told himself.

He took another breath and pursued his lips, spotting the painful look in Charlie's eyes as she thought about the effort he was putting into this. '_For Levi'_.

He went to speak again but he only gaped a few times, before shutting his mouth completely. He looked up, realizing everybody was now clearly staring at him in confusion. '_This ain't right'_, he concluded, crumpling the sheet in his fist and throwing it on the ground with a bitter chuckle.

"I'm sorry but this is plain stupid", he blurted out, putting his hands on his hips.

'_Don't'_ Charlie mouthed, but he ignored it.

"Briggs..." Jakes called out and started walking closer. But he held his hand out, motioning him to stop where he was.

"No, DJ, this is a huge pile of bullshit!", he raised his voice a bit. All the stress, the mourning, the anger and the frustration he had collected inside of him after Mike's passing came rushing back all at once.

"This is not what Mike would have wanted and this is not what I'm going to do! C'mon, he was an ass!"

"During his last days at Graceland he did nothing", he paused, fixing his eyes on each member of the Graceland family for a moment; a resigned Charlie, a sorrowful looking Dale and lastly, a stone-cold faced Johnny. None of them tried to stop Briggs again.

"Nothing but show us how delusional we were and we took it, all of it! And we all know why: because he was Mikey! We loved him the way he was, even if that pissed us off 90% of the time, 24/7!

And I'm pretty sure it's safe to say you all wanted to strangle him once or twice just like I wanted to every time I saw him all bright and shiny and ready to go at sunrise", he murmured the last part, but everybody caught that.

Especially Charlie, who let out a soft chuckle, remembering how loud he was when he had got there and had decided to make fun of her by screaming '_Good morning, sunshine_!' right into her pounding head. She had hated that irradiating smile he had thrown her at the time; now, she would have done everything in her power to see it flashing back at her just one more time. As soon as that memory disappeared, it left a sour taste into her soul.

"We took all of it because he was the good one among us. He always made the right move, he always took the right choice. And we knew that, even if he'd scream at us, even if he were to push us off the balcony... we knew that he would be down there in a minute, ready to catch us. And..."

Words died in his throat, as his mouth went dry. Realisation hit him like a bus: Mike was gone, and he was never coming back. He wasn't going to be there to save him from a crazy Jangles or a suspicious Badillo anymore.

For a moment, for the first time in his life, Paul Briggs felt absolute emptiness.

It was just a brief second. He felt like in limbo. Numb, empty.

He shook his head and turned his back to the others, touching the vase and caressing the sharp top.

'_How_', he asked himself, '_how is it possible to feel like this_?'

He had met many agents in his life and lost just as many, but this was the first time he had actually felt empty. Not even when his roommates were murdered. When_ Lisa_ was murdered.

He knew why, though. The connection with the kid was incredible: he saw his old self in Mike and he had high hopes for him. Mike was his only shot a redemption and with him gone, he wasn't sure he was going to make it as a good father.

'_Don't worry, Briggs. I'll be your kid's father, you can simply be the cool dad_', Paul remembered the joke he had made the night before they left for Mexico, when they had confessed their worries and plans for the future. Before Doomsday came.

He looked up at the sky. The sun was setting slowly and he thought about how many times he had watched Mike sit on the beach outside the house, reflecting on whatever was going on in his mind, at the end of the day.

"He was the best part of us and he died in the only way he could have died, like a hero."

He slowly lifted the top and opened the vase.

He let the ashes fall down the rocks slowly: the wind took each grain with it, just like Sid had taken each beat of Mike's heart away from them. Slowly, painfully, but at the same time fast and harshly, making the pain last forever.

"In the clearing stands a boxer and a fighter by his trade and he carries the reminder of every glove that laid him down. And cut him 'till he cried out his anger and his shame. The boxer's leaving now. You're leaving, Mike. But the fighter still remains"

Briggs had meant those words: Mike was dead, gone with the wind now, but his spirit would always be alive inside of him. 'Cause it wasn't over.

That glove. Closed around his oxygen tube and letting the darkness engulf him until life was sucked away from his pale body. The memory of his once bright blue eyes wide opened and clouded with death was still fresh in his mind: he could remember every detail, every single shade of emotion he had felt once Mike's lifeless body had been revealed behind the door. It still seemed so unreal to say out loud '_Michael Warren is __dead_'. The sound made everybody, including DJ, sick to their stomach.

Well, everyone but Paige, obviously.

Briggs had studied her for the past few weeks and she didn't show any sign of remorse for what she did. He couldn't believe that she, out of everyone, had been able to betray Mikey so easily and throw him the mouth of the wolf, as a succulent prey.

But Paul knew, he was sure that Mike hadn't been as easy to kill: he had fought it, he had fought the glove as hard as he had been able to, until Death decided to screw him over. He knew that Mikey gave it a hard time.

_His head was still grasping the sheets tight, the blood was still dry on his knuckles. _

They should have been around his neck, squeezing, just like he had confessed to Briggs a few days before.

That glove, Sid's glove, had to be discarded and destroyed. And he was going to do it. For himself. For Charlie. For Dale and Johnny, but most of all, _for Mikey_. 'Cause the fighter still remains.

"Tora, tora, tora, Mikey", he whispered, loud enough just for the two of them to hear. He and the kid. Paul and Mike, the fighter and the boxer.

The boxer had left, but the fighter still remained.


	2. Nipped in the budd

_**Hello! I couldn't wait and decided to post Paige's POV for two reasons: **_

_**I really like how this turned out and I hope you guys do too!**_

_**Paige, along with Briggs, is the most important character in Mike's life in the show and also the closest one he was to, so it felt kind of natural to put her as second?**_

_**Thank you all for reviewing! It means a lot to me and I'm glad you liked the first part :D I was a bit scared about that one, because Briggs is such a complex character to describe and also to understand. **_

_**This is how I feel about Paige's role in Mike's murder (actually, my "literary stunt" is Briggs: he shows exactly what I'd do to her after what she's done!). **_

_**I really hope you like it, let me know your thoughts! ;)**_

_**-XO, Mel**_

**_P.S. Season 3 has officially been written! ALL 13 EPISODES! :D Isn't that amazing?_**

**Nipped in the bud**

"_There's no grace here; everything is so dry. _

_I wanted to be pure and good; I used to hold my truth so purely but now all I can see are the darkest depths of all the lies I'm swimming into. I swear I don't wanna be like this anymore: you were right. I'm lost._

_I don't know who I am anymore; the man I wanted to be in my heart's been gone for months now. I convinced myself I was still the same guy out of Quantico, but with different priorities now. But how can you hold on tight for dear life to your morals, when they're being shattered in front of you? _

_I know it's no excuse, but the circumstances I've been dragged into reset me. I feel like I'm simply a code and nothing more. Is it possible to be so close to victory, yet to feel like a hopeless wanderer? _

_My purpose in life was to become a great FBI agent, once. Now, what is it that I'm chasing so obsessively? Defeating Solano? Busting the Caza Cartel? Destroying Sid? I don't know. _

_You once told me not to lose my instinctive sense of honesty and truth. But I did, and now I'm this shallow and dirty shadow of the naive and idealist guy I was. I'm weeping myself. I'll never be what is truly in my heart: I was brave at the start, but now? Not anymore. I rate myself and I rake myself, over and over again. And all I can do is take all the courage I have left and waste it on fixing all the problems I made in my own head._

_Was this really worth it? To sacrifice everything I had worked so hard on? Everything I had wished so silently but desperately?_

_Since I left Graceland, I used to tremble at night. I felt like a tiny lonely spot in the hands of the Devil: he had been molding me, since the day I let Eddie shoot himself instead of me. And he was only just finishing his work.  
>I keep trembling at night. <em>

_I'll never, never settle any of my scores. My grace is wasted in my face; my boldness stands along among the features of the wreck I am now._

_I'll spend the rest of my days biting from my own neck._

_I lost my head. I lost my direction and I lost my target. I lost my integrity._

_It's not my job: it's not what we do that makes me like this. I grew strong in my weakness and learned from each experience. I've held my tongue. I've learned from errors made early, but then I started making so many more that I fell into them, and all I could see was the blurred haze of what I was and vivid outlines of what I've become. I can't recall exactly which was the moment I turned into this cannibal. _

_A brush with the devil can clear your mind and strengthen your spine, but fingers will always tap in what you were once. _

_I walked away from all the fears and all the faults and left them behind, but the harvest left no food for me to eat: I dove into the lies and forgot the shapes of the truth. I became a meat-eater, desperate to reach its goals at any costs: something I never wanted to become. _

_I'm well aware of it, but it feels like I can't stop it anymore; it's out of control._

_I know the same in my defeat but I will hold on hope, and I won't let myself choke on the noose around my neck. I need to find my strength in this ocean of pain and swim towards the isle of redemption. _

_But I'm worried I blew my only chance._

_In the dark, I have no name. I can only cling to what I knew and what I saw was true, because I'm reaching around to grasp anything that might resemble the sun of honesty... but all I pull back are the muddy lies and bodies of evil._

_You were right, I'm lost. But you were wrong too: you were the answer, Paige. You left a click in my head that always led me into the right direction. _

_But that click is gone now; you are gone. And how am I supposed to follow back into my old footsteps? _

_I will always remember the words that you said and that left a clouded mind and a heavy heart: I was so sure we could see a new start. If only things didn't turn out the way they have..._

_You saw my pain and you washed it out like the rain washes out the drops of blood surrounding me, following me close. But the ghosts of my past will flicker from view now that you're not there to give me hope in the darkness that I will see the light. But hold me still and bury my heart on the coast. On this coast. The one I truly belong to._

_This is why I'm holding onto what I have now. I want this over and done with – I want to start fresh: if not with you, at least with my life- because I don't want to be left in this dark place I am right now; I don't wanna die alone. I want to go home, wherever that is, because all this pain, this deathly breath that seems to be following me in every step I take, in every action I make... is just so full and so small. I'm so sorry, P. It scares me to the bones, because of what's behind and what's before._

_I want to get over this hill and see what I'll find there, close my eyes to my recent disgrace."_

She let her hands fall onto her lap and took two steps. The sheet was smooth, neatly folded with the writing in the inside – the same technique she had used as a proof against him-, but smudges of red dust covered the angles where he had held the sheet down.

"_We found this in his personal stuff. I think it's for you, Arkin_"

He had been there for hours, waiting for Briggs to clue them on the situation. Probably a full day.

She had expected him to be watching like a hawk every living form moving in the desert, but oddly enough, he hadn't. He had taken a blank page from his notepad and written down his reflections. Maybe he wasn't even going to give it to her. Maybe he just wanted somebody –something- to listen to him.

'_Or maybe he felt he was going to die_', she thought, and a sharp pain shot through her right side. She bent sideways and leant onto the bed. _His_ bed.

Her legs felt like jelly and she had to sit down so as not to fall to her knees. She touched her mouth and looked down at the letter in her hands. Wet, silent tears met at the top of her lips and slid down her fingertips. She hadn't even realised she was crying.

The pain had subdued, but it had quickly spread to her whole body. She felt her limbs go dumb.

She could feel the weight of _his_ death dangling over her head. The room – his room – felt so small compared to how it had felt when she had slept there – in his arms. When there was no sex trade, no lies, no investigating on her roommate.

'_No murdering Mike._'

Another arrow of pain shot through her left shoulder and a sob escaped her lips.

She threw her hands over her ears. The sheet in her right hand made a crispy sound against her ear.

It was excruciating: she could feel _him, _everywhere, all around her, inside of her. _His _presence was strong and real in that room, she felt like she was going to explode.

"Just stop!", she screamed.

That's what she had wanted to do all along, since the very first moment she –that _Jessica_- had given her the torn piece of paper. She had seen her eyes: they were sad, wet with tears. Instead, she had kept her stare strong and fiery; she hadn't let herself tear apart in front of her.

Why was she sad? Had she been crying for Mike's tragic destiny? Had she hoped the letter was for her?

Or maybe Jessica knew.

Maybe Jessica knew about her little, deadly secret. She knew lots of things, especially about Mike.

The thought made her nauseous. She could taste the bitter taste of bile at the top of her throat. She made a quick movement to the trashcan near his desk and knelt out.

Nothing came up.

Nothing but sounds.

Her whole body was empty, even her stomach. Just as empty as her soul.

'_What have I done?_' she thought, truly regretting her choice –and her consequent actions- for the first time since Mike passed away.

She had convinced herself that he had deserved it. That his crude death had been a side effect of what he had become and what he had done – he had killed Lina and lied about it, that was unacceptable.

'_But you've killed him. And you lied about it, to.'_

A sudden coldness took over her body. She started shivering. She crawled to his bed again and pulled herself up, towards his pillow.

Laying her head down, she breathed into his scent.

_His _scent. It was still there and it engulfed her like a bubble of sweet surrender. It made her whole body ache, but it soothed the pain in a strange, mysterious way.

'_What have I done?_'

He wasn't the monster she had pictured him to be in his last few days. She had thought he had burnt Lina's body on purpose: to get rid of his murderous side. But boy, had she been wrong.

She laid the sheet down on the mattress and caressed it with her fingerprints.

Mike had been in torment. The sin she had condemned him for – probably the only real sin he had committed in his short life as an agent- was wrapping its tentacles around his fair soul, leaving every sort of injuries: the blood he had seen spurting out right in front of him had left permanent burns onto his innocence; the screams he had heard echoed in the depths of his mind all the time, both day and night. And nobody had been there for him, listening to him. He had been silently asking her for help, but she had ignored it.

"_I want you back in the trap__."_

He had been trapped all along and reached out for a friendly, helping hand that hadn't arrived.

"_Your word is shit__."_

The only hand that reached out to him was Sid's. A deadly hand. And she had pushed that hand. She had pushed it to take Mike's lifeblood away. He needed to pay. He needed to suffer.

'_But did he really deserve to die?_'

He had been torturing his own soul by keeping all those secret emotions inside of him. _To protect her_. Because he _loved_ her.

And she had been his executioner.

She had murdered that love. She had cupped her hands and coaxed that butterfly to get in: then, she had grasped it tight and clasped her hands until it moved no more.

Suddenly, she caught glimpse of a shadow at the door: she sprung to her knees on the bed and squeezed her eyes to see through her tears. Was it him?

"Mike..." It was supposed to come out as a question, but it came out as a hopeful whisper instead.

The shadow took a step inside, and it went from having Mike's elegant features to Briggs's.

Paige's shoulders fell. What was she thinking? Mike was gone. Gone. She exchanged a deep stare with Paul, whose eyes were hard and unreadable. She extended her hand on the cover, feeling the smooth texture under fingers. It was smooth and soft, and she could do nothing but compare it to his chest. When they were still sharing happy times together.

Paul took another step and she kept her focus on him: he was the papa bear at Graceland. Was he going to comfort her and make this huge weight less heavy on her shoulders?

Hell no.

'_You killed him, you had no mercy: you don't get to ask for compassion_." She could clearly see this thought going on his mind beyond the glassy, wet, brown eyes she was staring into.

He grasped the handle and pulled the door closed, only breaking the stare once the hinges of the piece of wood had squeaked to a close.

She closed her eyes and let the tears fall down her golden skin. Sniffling, she hugged her knees to her chest and let the sheet rest on her feet.

She looked down, daring to let her eyes scan the last few lines scribbled down at the end.

"_But it was not your fault but mine, and it was your heart on the line. I really fucked up this time, didn't I? Pa..."*_

The words had been nipped in the bud by a sudden interruption. Something had stopped him from going ahead and finish his thoughts.

Forever.

***I used this line to make more evident how Mike didn't burn Lina's body just for fun or because he was a "bad guy", but to protect both Paige and her family. I wanted to underline how sorry, bad and sad he felt for doing that (let's face it people: that even destroyed him!). It is a line from "Little lion man" by Mumford & Sons. This is the song that inspired me these series of one shots. The song basically talks about Mike during his last days: I suggest you listen to it after reading this. It is not only a great song, but also a song Mike's character in S2 can relate to!**


	3. Simba

**Enjoy! (Not quite satisfied with how this turned out, tbh. I had envisioned it differently.)**

**Simba**

Charlie let out a puff of steam in the air, before lowering the iron on one of Briggs's brand new white shirts.

It had been 8 months now and many things had changed at Graceland, one of them being Briggs's style: he had let go of the carefree t-shirts, worn out jeans and Buddhist gadgets in favour of a more sober outfit. He privileged white shirts and dark dressy pants but she was sure that, if she had bought them, he'd wear any other kind of shirts. Just, not t-shirts. They weren't his thing anymore.

He was now DA Briggs at the headquarters and the position required a certain level of class and style.

After finally busting the Caza cartel, he had been promoted in the blink of an eye, and all his sins washed away. Officially, at least.

Because deep down, he felt responsible for all the things that had happened in the past two years.

Things were back to normal between them, though. That's why she was more than glad to be doing his ironing, while he worked late hours that night.

The house was silent, everybody was out. Dales had finally been able to prove his ex-wife wrong and got the restraining order revoked: he was now at the stadium, watching a baseball match with his son.

Johnny was still trying to get himself back on his feet after the mess that had gone down with Lucia, but he had lost no time into dipping himself into the party scene again: he was out with Paige at some bar nearby.

Paige. Well, Paige had now been transferred to a desk job at the headquarters and, even if she had suspected it, she wasn't aware of who had been responsible for that: Briggs.

After what happened, Paul wanted to keep an eye on her, to protect her and all the others surrounding her, close to her. She wasn't the same as before, but she had moved on and that was for the best.

Humming some tune she couldn't quite remember the name of, Charlie folded the white shirt neatly, following the simple rules of pulling, flattening, folding.

She reached into the basket to take out another piece of clothes to iron that felt soft to her touch.

Pulling it out, she examined it. '_Well, that's weird'._

It was a plain green hoodie of a size smaller than Briggs's but obviously bigger than Johnny's and too tight for Dale. It probably was Paige's.

Shrugging off, she laid it on the ironing table and reversed it inside out, just like her mama had taught her. It was then that she realised whose owner actually was. _Mike_.

She recognized the red stain on the left, where Jangles had gutted him: it was fading, but it was there. She simply looked at it, no expression on her face. After a few seconds, she took the sheet and laid it on the hoodie: raising the iron, she proceeded with her task. When she had finished her job, she took all of the clothes and brought them back to their room.

That's where Paul found her when he came back home: it was past midnight and he had expected to found her asleep – she needed it now more than ever – but instead, she was sitting at the end of their bed, staring into space. A male indumenta laying, neatly folded, on her legs.

"Babe?" He tested, entering the room. She didn't reply.

With two big steps, he found himself knelt in front of her, checking for any kind of damage, fearing for her well being. He laid one hand on her cheek and the other on her knee: turning her face, he made her look down at him and he smiled.

"You okay?"

"Yeah." She whispered, nodding her head. Paul let out a sigh and got up to sit next to her. "Jeeze, you scared the shit outta me, babe."

Charlie seemed to be in a haze, as she looked at him and simply pointed to her lap. He followed her finger and looked down. "What's that?"

She held the hoodie up and casted a look at it, before glancing back at Paul.

"Mike's gone."

He felt his heart tighten at the sight, only now recognizing the faded green material. He clenched one of his fists and nodded.

"Yeah, he is."

"Mhm." Charlie went back to staring at an imaginary point in front of her, clutching the hoodie on her lap. Paul reached down and covered one of her hands with his, closing his eyes. There had been tears. There had been screams. There had been emotional break downs and silent suffering, but Mike's death still burnt like the first day. It had cut through their skin and went straight to their hearts, wounding them.

The empty hole he had left was never going to be filled nor fixed there at Graceland.

Charlie held onto his hand and squeezed it back. She brought it up onto her round stomach and turned to him, her eyes searching his.

"Mikey?" She asked.

Paul felt his heart burst out with pride and commotion: she was going to be an amazing mother, just like she had been to all those who had set foot in _their _house and who had been part of _their_ family.

His eyes made a silent promise and she knew, before he even voiced it, that he was happy with it.

"Mikey." He nodded, caressing her belly. A little foot stuck out, hitting the spot that he had just touched. They both smiled, before Charlie went back to staring in front of her. This time, with Paul.

They spent a good hour and a half like that and, somehow, that left a peaceful feeling inside of them.

A feeling they hadn't experienced in a while. They had finally _let go_, but his memory would live through their child. Forever.

"_Mikey. I like it: he's going to be a little lion man just like he was. He was a feisty Simba, wasn't he Paul?"_

"_Yeah, damn right he was... Actually no, fuck that guy, he was just a true pain in the ass, that ugly bastard. An irritating, overly happy, energize bunny. I'd put my hands on fire that he secretly stuck batteries up his ass to be like that!" _

_Paul couldn't make it to the end of his sentence without erupting into laugh. Charlie following right after._

_In the back of his mind, he knew that somewhere up there Mike was laughing too._

_Checking he had enough batteries to last forever, of course._


End file.
